


Collections of Paradox

by Anonymous



Category: Les Misérables (2012), Les Misérables - All Media Types
Genre: Anal Fingering, Anal Sex, Blow Jobs, Explicit Sexual Content, M/M, Two dudes who are into each other in a healthy way!
Language: English
Status: Completed
Published: 2014-05-14
Updated: 2014-05-14
Packaged: 2018-01-24 17:20:23
Rating: Explicit
Warnings: No Archive Warnings Apply
Chapters: 1
Words: 5,834
Publisher: archiveofourown.org
Story URL: https://archiveofourown.org/works/1613126
Author URL: https://archiveofourown.org/
Summary: <blockquote class="userstuff">
              <p>Fill for the following prompt (Round 8, Page 14): There really isn't enough bahorel/grantaire around here! so anything with this pairing as long as it's not angsty. maybe them being sickeningly sweet together for a change.<br/> <br/>To that end, I give you the following summary: “I never thought it could happen to someone like me,” said Grantaire, offering his own smile in return. “A relationship built on common interest, mutual attraction, and genuine good feeling? It’s beyond imagining.”</p>
            </blockquote>





	Collections of Paradox

Nothing – absolutely nothing – was sweeter than the sound of two pints clinking together. There was something about the dull clank of glass against glass, the quiet slosh of the beer, that made Grantaire’s heart feel all big and squishy.

Thank God he had friends who felt the same.

“To reckless and ill-conceived attempts to alter the human condition,” Grantaire said solemnly, raising his glass skyward. Courfeyrac, Jehan, and Bahorel – his tablemates for the evening’s meeting – lifted their glasses in turn.

“To recklessness,” echoed Bahorel. He tried to match Grantaire’s solemnity, but the effect was ruined by the giant grin that crept across his face.

Grantaire smiled back and knocked his glass against Bahorel’s. “Good man,” he said, before bringing the glass to his lips. He drank slowly, letting the hoppy taste of the IPA linger on his tongue. His eyes fluttered shut.

When Grantaire opened his eyes, Bahorel was still looking at him. His eyes were the same icy blue they always were, a much more distinctive color than Grantaire’s plain gray. Although, when Grantaire thought about it, most things about Bahorel were distinctive. Artfully tousled black hair that probably took a bucket-load of product to arrange. Tight, stylish clothes that made him seem taller than he was. A strong jaw and brow that made all the ladies and gentlemen swoon.

Bahorel was vain, a bit of a peacock, and it showed. He was almost a match for Enjolras, look-wise.

Grantaire raised his eyebrows and rubbed the back of his hand over his mouth. “Do I have something on my face?”

“Oh, no,” said Bahorel, grin never wavering. “Just thinking about how much fun we had last night.”

Courfeyrac looked between the two of them, a sour frown on his face. “You two went out last night? Without me?”

“It was kind of a last minute thing,” Grantaire muttered into his glass, finally dropping Bahorel’s gaze.

“Again?” asked Jehan. He tucked his suicide blond hair behind his ear and set his beer on the table. “You should have texted. I was stuck with Enjolras half the night going over our grant application for the millionth time. I could have used an out.”

“Sorry,” said Bahorel, not sounding sorry at all. Jehan punched him in the thigh, hard, but Bahorel just laughed.

Grantaire smiled at the exchange, but didn’t say anything. The truth was, he and Bahorel had been hanging out more and more over the last few months. It was a recent development; when Grantaire had first started coming to the ABC’s meetings, he only had eyes for Enjolras. After Enjolras made it clear that he had exactly zero interest in Grantaire, Grantaire had removed his head from his ass and gotten to know the rest of the gang.

Everyone was great, of course, but Bahorel ended up being the one he had the most in common with. Over numerous beers and shots of tequila, they discovered that they both liked boxing and jiu jitsu. They both enjoyed boozing and carousing and generally being little shits. They both cried when Maurice Sendak died. And, most importantly, neither of them took life seriously.

That was the real draw. When Grantaire was with Bahorel, there was no discussion of the Cause, no fretting over the future of humanity. He didn’t have to feel guilty about drinking or dancing or making out with whatever hot guy he’d just met at the bar. Bahorel was fun. Being friends with him was easy. That was probably why, when Bahorel had called the night before to say _he was in the neighborhood and did Grantaire want to go for a drink,_ Grantaire hadn’t thought to invite anyone else. Why fix what wasn’t broken?

Grantaire took another drink, looking around the room over the rim of his glass. A flash of red caught his attention at the front of the room. It was Enjolras. He was standing stiffly, radiant in the golden twilight, Combeferre stationed solidly at his side.

“Hello, everyone,” said Enjolras, his voice as fiery and unshakeable as napalm. Grantaire was so ready to move on from him, it wasn’t even funny. “Thank you for coming. Today I’d like to start with…”

Grantaire turned away and drained the rest of his beer. Then he pushed his glass away, folded his arms on the table, and laid his head in the dark space he’d created. A nap sounded good. No one needed him for this part of the meeting anyway.

He slipped into a light doze, lulled into a quasi-meditative state by the rhythm of Enjolras’ voice. A warm breeze floated in through the Musain’s open windows, bringing relief from the lingering heat of the summer sun. The movement of the air felt incredible against his skin. For the next few minutes, Grantaire let himself float.

Then, distantly, Grantaire felt fingers dance across the back of his neck. He shrugged his shoulders and grunted, hoping to dislodge them. The fingers persisted, however, curling themselves into the baby hairs at the back of his neck.

Grantaire looked up blurrily to see Bahorel smiling down at him. “That tickles,” he whispered, mindful that Enjolras was still speaking. He shrugged his shoulders again.

Goosebumps popped up all over Grantaire’s body as Bahorel responded by trailing the pads of two fingers down the center of Grantaire’s neck, from his hairline to start of his t-shirt. “If you didn’t want me to touch you, you shouldn’t present such a tempting target.”

“Yeah, that’s not a creepy thing to say at all.”

“Well, what am I supposed to do when you-”

“Is there a problem?” 

Both Grantaire and Bahorel jumped at the volume of Enjolras’ voice, obviously directed at them. Had they been loud? Grantaire hadn’t thought so, but he wasn't always the best judge of those things.

“No problem,” said Bahorel. He’d already snatched his hand away from Grantaire and was currently using it to clutch his beer.

“Are you sure?” asked Enjolras, voice flat and a bit accusatory. “Grantaire? You usually have something to say.”

Grantaire shook his head. “To tell you the truth, I wasn’t even listening.”

Enjolras pursed his lips. He actually looked offended. “Obviously. Why do you bother coming if you’re not going to listen?” Grantaire slouched in his seat.

Bahorel, however, bristled. He glanced from Grantaire to Enjolras, his mouth set in a hard line. “You can be a real asshole sometimes, you know that, Enjolras?”

Enjolras stared at Bahorel blankly. "What?"

“I was goofing off the same as Grantaire, but you didn’t say shit to me. It’s like you’ve got it out for him or something.” Bahorel pushed away from the table, the legs of his chair scraping against the wood floor. “If you don’t want us here, we’ll leave.”

Worry lines appeared between Enjolras’ eyes. “That isn’t what I meant. You can’t just leave.” He glanced at Combeferre, uneasy and looking for guidance.

Combeferre sighed. In that moment, Grantaire felt sorry for him. Combeferre was a patient man, but he also lived with Enjolras; he had to deal with him all the time. “You can’t make them do anything."

“Obviously,” agreed Bahorel. He held his hand out to Grantaire. “Let’s go. His highness can apologize to you later.”

Grantaire looked at Enjolras, who, to his credit, did seem sorry. Not that it mattered much. Grantaire was sick of the way Enjolras treated him, like drinking and speaking his mind meant he wasn’t good enough to hang out with the group. All the pretty and all the passion in the world couldn’t make up for that. The decision made, he took Bahorel’s hand and followed him out of the Musain.  

“I can’t believe he thinks it’s okay to talk to you like that,” Bahorel fumed. He let go of Grantaire’s hand and kicked half-heartedly at a lamppost. The sidewalk was crowded, full of people milling about in front of the street’s bars.

“He can’t help it. It’s like he sees me and feels a compulsion." Grantaire fished his arm through Bahorel’s and began to tug him down the street. “It’s fine, really.”

“No, it’s not fine. You don’t deserve it, and he doesn’t deserve to have you defending him.” Bahorel pulled back against Grantaire, stopping their motion. He waited until Grantaire was looking at him before he continued. “Seriously. You’re an amazing person. Everybody loves you. I don’t want to see you hurt.”

Grantaire squirmed uncomfortably, aware of the strangers passing them on either side. The intensity in Bahorel’s piercing eyes, the strong grip of his hand, the set of his shoulders, was too much. It was overwhelming. Grantaire could feel his own heart speed up in response. He didn’t know Bahorel cared that much.

“I, uh…” Grantaire pulled away from Bahorel and pushed his fingers through his hair. It was a messy, and definitely too long. He should cut it soon. “How about we pick up a bottle from the store? It’ll be cheaper than going to a bar.”

Bahorel narrowed his eyes. Grantaire took a deep breath.

“Fine,” said Bahorel. “So long as you realize you’re a compliment dodging asshole.”

Relieved, Grantaire resumed his walk. “I am well aware, thank you.”

Together, they went into the supermarket and picked up the cheapest bottom-shelf vodka they could find and a carton of orange juice. Not even Grantaire could stomach the cheap stuff without a chaser. Their alcohol in hand, they made the fifteen minute walk to the river that flowed through the middle of the city. The last light of the sun had long since died, but the river was still full of boats of all sizes. Their lights, combined with those of the city, reflected off the rippling water in giant columns of hazy illumination.

Grantaire found an unoccupied bench under a street lamp and sat heavily. He’d had swig or three from the bottle on the walk to the river, and he was starting to feel it. Bahorel sat next to him, close enough that their thighs pressed together from hip to knee. Grantaire didn’t mind at all.

They passed the vodka and the juice back and forth for a while. Neither of them spoke. In the beauty of the night, the silence seemed sacred. Prolonged silence wasn’t in either of their natures, however. Bahorel broke it first. “Why do you let him treat you like that?” he asked softly.

Grantaire stared at the river, thinking. He didn’t want to give Bahorel some flip answer. Bahorel was always honest, always brave, and he deserved the same in return. The alcohol certainly helped with that. “I don’t know,” he said slowly. “Maybe it’s because a part of me believes he’s right.”

“He’s not,” answered Bahorel. He sounded absolutely certain, and more than a little drunk. “I love Enjolras. He’s one of my best friends, and I would follow him into battle, for sure. But he’s wrong about you. You are not a waste. You’re kind and selfless. You’re funny. You listen. You make everyone around you feel important. I don’t understand how he can’t see that.” He nudged Grantaire’s shoulder with his, a small smile on his face. “And you’re easy on the eyes.”

Grantaire rolled his eyes, unsure how seriously he should be taking Bahorel at the moment. His stomach was starting to feel a little queasy. “I’m not the one who always looks like they just walked off the runway.”

“What?” Bahorel sounded surprised.

Grantaire snorted. “Dude, you’re like, perfect. You always look bangin’. I mean, those eyes alone are complete insanity. Don’t tell me you don’t know that. You have a different person hanging off you every time I see you.”

“Yeah, well…” Bahorel was the one shifting uncomfortably now. “I guess I know. I just didn’t know that you knew. Or noticed me. Like that.”

“Course I do,” Grantaire mumbled. His heart was pounding wildly in his chest, so hard it was actually painful. This was all terribly surreal. “You’ve been singing my praises all night, but you’ve got it backwards.”

He was afraid to look at Bahorel. There was something between them, something exhilarating and bright. Something tangible and real. Something that had been building for a long time.

“Hey,” said Bahorel after a short pause. “I have an idea.” He stood up and planted himself directly in front of Grantaire. “Let’s fight.”

“Huh?”

“You know. Let’s spar. Fight. Whatever. I need to move.”

Grantaire cocked his head to the side. The world shifted and jumped at the edges of his vision. “Are you sure you want to go all Fight Club right now?” he asked. “We’re drunk.”

“Hell yeah, I’m sure,” Bahorel said. He shook his arms out as he spoke, dancing on the balls of his feet. “Just take it easy. No shots to the face.”

Grantaire heaved himself to his feet and followed Bahorel to the soft grass behind the bench, leaving the rest of the vodka and juice next to the street light. He stretched his arms above his head, glad that he’d worn baggy shorts today rather than the tight jeans Bahorel had on. That should give him an advantage.

Unfortunately, Grantaire hadn’t taken into account the fact that Bahorel was a cheat who fought dirty. Before Grantaire had a chance to move into position, Bahorel pounced on him, taking him to the ground in one easy motion. That left Bahorel lying between Grantaire’s legs and pinning him to the ground by his biceps.

“I think I’m better at this than you,” Bahorel breathed. He leaned down, laughing his wicked laugh, and deliberately settled his weight onto Grantaire’s hips.

Grantaire grunted. “I think you’re more sober than me. I also think you’re an arrogant prick.” Overconfidence was Bahorel’s main weakness. He overextended, assured of his victory, and gave his opponents openings they could use for locks. Just like the opening Bahorel had just given Grantaire.

Grantaire grabbed Bahorel’s right elbow with his left hand and Bahorel’s right wrist with his right hand. Then he set his left foot into Bahorel’s hip and pushed. The move forced Bahorel to the side, which gave Grantaire the opportunity to move his left leg over Bahorel’s head. His movements were clumsy and slow, but they did the trick. Classic armlock.

Bahorel yelped, more in surprise than pain. If Grantaire pushed his hips up, he could snap Bahorel’s arm like a twig.

“Oh, how the tables have turned,” Grantaire laughed. “Everyone underestimates me. Why do you think that is?”

“You seem so nice,” said Bahorel through gritted teeth. “No one expects you to fight like a wild thing. I’m tapping out.”

Grantaire made a noise of victory, squeezed his thighs one last time, and let Bahorel go. But instead of collapsing and ending the game, Bahorel waited until Grantaire dropped his legs and quickly leapfrogged over Grantaire’s hips so he was straddling Grantaire’s chest in a full mount.

Grantaire let out his breath in surprised woosh. He tried to buck Bahorel off, but Bahorel had already gotten his feet on top of Grantaire’s hips. Grantaire was stuck.

“Now who’s the arrogant one?” crowed Bahorel. “You should know better than anyone, Taire. In the real world, the fight is never over. There is no tapping out.”

Grantaire stared up at Bahorel, body still, arms pinned uselessly at his sides. Jesus fuck, but Bahorel was beautiful. “Is that what we’re doing?” Grantaire said, quirking his eyebrow. “Are we fighting?”

Bahorel blinked and scooted back, freeing Grantaire’s arms. His hands were splayed across Grantaire’s chest. They moved up and down with Grantaire’s breath. Long moments passed in tense silence. 

“Are you saying what I think you’re saying?” Bahorel asked thickly. “You’re not waiting for…someone else?”

“No one makes me feel like you do,” Grantaire murmured. Then he reached up, curled his hand around Bahorel’s neck, and brought him down for a kiss.

Nothing – absolutely nothing – was sweeter than kissing someone you cared about for the first time. Bahorel’s lips were soft and engaged, responding to Grantaire in the best possible way. His tongue stroked over Grantaire’s, and Grantaire wanted more and more and more. And his hands. Grantaire liked to say that the hands could make or break a kiss, and Bahorel knew exactly what to do with his. He used them to cover Grantaire, to pull him closer, to touch his hair and his arms and his neck.

For his part, Grantaire wrapped his arms around Bahorel and held him as tight as he dared. He wanted to be closer. Closer and closer and closer. He wanted the effervescent, electric tingling on his skin and in his head and in his heart to last forever.

But all good things come to an end, even first kisses. When their position started to get uncomfortable, Bahorel rolled off Grantaire and into the grass beside him. He raised one hand to cover his eyes, but left the other on Grantaire’s waist.

“You do not know how long I’ve wanted to do that,” Bahorel said, eyes still hidden. He peeked through his fingers. His eyes looked dark in the orange glow of the street lamp. “I bet I was great. Was I great?”

Grantaire groaned and slid away from Bahorel’s hand. He pushed himself onto his hands and knees. “We need to get to a bed, like, yesterday,” he said. He couldn’t have stopped the urgency from flooding his voice if he tried. He climbed to his feet. “My place. Now.”

“Oh, I get it. The old fight-and-fuck. You realize this makes us walking clichés, right?” Bahorel giggled into his hands, but stopped short when a thought struck him. “Do you think Jehan’s back yet?”

Grantaire picked up the bottle of vodka and the carton of orange juice and threw them into the nearest trash can. Then he shrugged his shoulders before hauling Bahorel to his feet. “Maybe. Does it matter?” He kissed Bahorel again, just for the sheer joy of it, his hands twisting in Bahorel’s thin cotton shirt.

When they broke apart, Bahorel was breathing harder. “Fuck no, it doesn’t matter,” he said.

The ten minute walk to Grantaire’s apartment ended up taking half an hour due to frequent make-out stops. They made out with Bahorel pressed against the side of a bus shelter. They made out in front of Grantaire’s favorite Japanese noodle restaurant. They even made out in the middle of a cross walk, and got several angry honks for their trouble.

It was madness. Or, it felt like madness. Maybe it was just happiness. Grantaire wasn’t sure he’d ever felt that before. He also wasn’t sure it was entirely because of Bahorel, although that was a big part of it. It was something bigger. It was letting go of the past.

For the first time in years, Grantaire felt free.

Once they got to Grantaire’s building, they fell up the two flights of stairs, pausing briefly for one more make out on the second floor landing. Grantaire somehow managed to dig his key out of his pocket – a task made difficult by Bahorel’s wandering hands – and they stumbled into the apartment.

They tripped past the kitchen and into the living room, holding each other up the whole way. Even so, Grantaire narrowly avoided braining himself on the full length mirror Jehan had hung on the wall by the bathroom. He was only saved by Bahorel, who caught him by the shoulders before he could do any real damage.

“Woah! Careful.”

Grantaire looked over his shoulder to see Jehan sitting cross-legged on the futon they used as a couch. His eyes were wide and his arm was stretched toward Grantaire like he could have kept him from falling from across the room.

Grantaire righted himself and leaned close to Bahorel’s ear. “Jehan is here,” he stage whispered.

“Where’d you go?” Jehan asked. He let his hand fall, but threw it up again quickly when Bahorel accidentally pushed Grantaire into Jehan’s bedroom door. “Combeferre ended the meeting after you left. We thought maybe you’d come back.”

“We had more important things to do,” said Grantaire, catching Bahorel’s eyes.

Bahorel grinned and slapped Grantaire’s ass. “We still have important things _to do,_ babe.” He pulled Grantaire closer by his back pockets and kissed him soundly.

Jehan stared at them for a few long seconds, frozen. Grantaire opened his eyes long enough to toss him a wink.

Jehan spluttered. “I knew it!” he exclaimed, shooting off the futon. “Courf said I was crazy, but I fucking knew it!”

Grantaire broke away from Bahorel and smiled widely. “Maybe you should go talk to Courf then. Now.” There was a stray sock balled up in the corner. Grantaire retrieved it and, with a waggle of his eyebrows, tied it to the doorknob of his bedroom.

Little wrinkles appeared around Jehan’s eyes as he burst out laughing. “Absolutely shameless. God help us all.” He grabbed his backpack off the floor and slid his feet into some sandals.

“You’re awesome, you’re a saint, I’d do the same for the same for you,” Grantaire said quickly, blowing Jehan a kiss. Then he opened his bedroom door, pulled Bahorel in behind him, and shut the door.

Bahorel was on him immediately. He stripped off Grantaire’s shirt and then his own with a playful intensity that made Grantaire moan. By the time their pants and underwear had joined their shirts on the floor, Grantaire was a hundred years past ready.

He gripped Bahorel’s hardening cock loosely and used it to maneuver him to Grantaire’s little double bed.

Bahorel looked down at Grantaire’s hand pointedly, but followed easily enough. “So that’s how it’s gonna be, huh?” He crawled on top of Grantaire, kissing up his chest and neck as Grantaire stroked him. When he reached as high as the skin directly under Grantaire’s ear, he whispered, “Hand jobs and making out? I feel like I’m fourteen again.” He slid his hand down to rub his thumb under the head of Grantaire’s dick.

Grantaire shivered, his eyes screwing shut. Bahorel’s sex voice was like dark smoke curling up from a camp fire. If he’d known Bahorel could sound like that, he would have grabbed his dick a lot sooner.

“Not _just_ hand jobs and making out,” Grantaire teased. With practiced ease, he shifted his weight and threw Bahorel onto the bed, back first. Now Grantaire was the one on top. “Anything I need to know about before I get my mouth around your cock?”

Bahorel bit his lip. Grantaire could tell he was trying not to smile. “Just that you’re a fucking menace. And probably the hottest thing I’ve ever seen.” He ran his hand over Grantaire’s chest and stomach, then back up to his nipple, which he pinched.

Grantaire jumped. “Who’s the menace?” he growled. Then he leaned down and licked up the bottom of Bahorel’s cock before taking the head into his mouth.

Bahorel made a sound like he’d been punched in the stomach.

Grantaire ran his tongue around the head a few times, then went as far down as he could and sucked. The muscles in Bahorel’s stomach and thighs spasmed.

Satisfied with the fruits of his labor, Grantaire brought his right hand up and started stroking the bottom of Bahorel’s cock while he worked the top with his mouth. He used his other hand to jack his own cock. The sight of Bahorel’s face alone was enough to make him hard as hell.

Soon – too soon – Bahorel was reaching out, stopping Grantaire’s movements with a hand on his hair. “I’m, uh…I’m really close, Taire.” He sounded wrecked.

Grantaire let Bahorel’s cock slip out of his mouth. He was breathing hard, already sweaty. The room felt boiling hot. “Me too.”

“How do you want to…handle it?” Bahorel looked down at Grantaire through hooded eyes. His sweat-mussed hair had fallen flat onto his head. It was beautiful.

“I want you to fuck me,” answered Grantaire, because that was the truth. In that moment, he wanted Bahorel inside him more than he’d ever wanted anything. He wanted the intimacy, the closeness. They were so alike, so good for each other. It just felt right.

There was a beat of silence while Bahorel propped himself up on his elbows. A soft look smoothed the sharp edges of his jaw and cheekbones into something warm and familiar.

“Are you sure?” he asked. He drew Grantaire up with one hand so they were face to face. “I could do it, if you wanted…”

Grantaire kissed Bahorel’s lips gently. “Really? When’s the last time you bottomed?”

“It’s been a while. But I’d do it for you.”

“Hmm. Generous offer. Maybe I’ll take you up on it later.” Grantaire leaned over and grabbed the pump-bottle of lube he kept under the bed. He grabbed a condom from the nightstand next, and grunted as brought himself back to Bahorel. “But tonight I’m impatient, and I don’t want to wait a million years to see if we can stretch you out enough. So-” he paused to tear open the condom and roll it over Bahorel’s erection “-tonight, I get your dick.”

Bahorel threw his head back and groaned. “Fuck, Taire.”

Grantaire responded by shoving the lube into Bahorel’s hands.

“This is a lot of lube,” Bahorel laughed. He squirted some into his hand and sat up while he waited for Grantaire to turn around.

“It’s cheaper when you buy in bulk,” said Grantaire. He was on his hands and knees now, his ass pointed at Bahorel and his face full of Bahorel’s cock. Not a bad place to be, really. “The internet’s an amazing place.”

That’s when Grantaire felt the first touch of Bahorel’s finger on his hole. Bahorel took his time. He waited until Grantaire was relaxed, and then slipped his finger inside, pushing lube in as he went.

“That okay?” Bahorel asked.

Grantaire hissed. “Yes. More.”

Bahorel caressed the outside of Grantaire’s hip and began to work in another finger. The stretch was uncomfortable at first, and little painful, but Grantaire was used to it. He’d done this enough times to know that if he got past it, there was good sex waiting for him on the other side.

Bahorel had obviously done this before too. Once he had Grantaire opened up enough that his two fingers were going in smoothly, he crooked them towards the front of Grantaire’s body and pushed. Grantaire shuddered, nearly losing strength in his arms.

“Oh, you like that,” said Bahorel, a bit of awe in his voice. He pressed again, and Grantaire clenched down on his fingers.

Grantaire tossed his head from side to side. “Put another finger in before I lose my mind.”

Bahorel did as requested, inserting another finger alongside the other two. He pumped them in and out of Grantaire, spreading them every so often to make sure Grantaire was ready for the main event.

After Grantaire was practically growling with impatience, Bahorel swirled his fingers over Grantaire’s prostate one last time and withdrew his fingers from Grantaire’s body. “You good?” he asked, stroking his hand over Grantaire’s ass.

“So ready,” panted Grantaire. “So, so ready.”

“Okay, babe, I hear you.” Bahorel got his legs out from under Grantaire and sat on his knees. He went for the lube again, coating his own dick with a few long strokes. “Let’s start like this. It’ll be easier.”

As he spoke, he draped himself over Grantaire’s back, kissing up the line of Grantaire’s spine. He rubbed his cock into the crack of Grantaire’s ass a few times, then pulled back. He ran the pads of his fingers over Grantaire’s perineum until they rested just under Grantaire’s balls, and pressed lightly with his fingers. Grantaire jumped.

“Couldn’t resist,” said Bahorel. Grantaire couldn’t see his face, but he could still hear the smile in his voice.

Then, finally, Bahorel started to push his cock into Grantaire. Grantaire could feel every inch of Bahorel as he slowly, slowly, pushed himself inside.

Every. Aching. Inch.

Grantaire couldn’t have stopped his moan even if he’d wanted to. Bahorel was so hot, so incredibly hot.

“That’s it, Taire,” panted Bahorel. His smoky sex voice was back a hundred fold. “I’ve wanted you for so long. Knew this would be good.”

Grantaire gave himself over to the moment. He simply felt. He felt Bahorel moving inside him, and Bahorel’s hot hands pressing into his hips. He felt the sweat gathering at the hair on his forehead and dripping down onto his cheery yellow sheets. He felt his own hard cock in his hand as he gripped it tightly in an attempt to make this last as long as possible.

As long as possible turned out to be a pretty short amount of time. A wild sound ripped itself from Grantaire’s throat, and he came all over his own hand.

Dear Lord.

Before Grantaire could even begin to recover, Bahorel drove into him forcefully and made a strangled noise as he flattened Grantaire onto the bed.

“I just came. Like, inside you,” said Bahorel wonderingly, winded. He rolled off of Grantaire and stared at his own condom-covered dick. Grantaire nodded absently, too focused on breathing to talk. Bahorel climbed over him and walked to the door, flushed and naked as the day he was born.

“Good thing Jehan left,” Bahorel said, opening Grantaire’s bedroom door. He disappeared for a minute, leaving Grantaire to lie on the bed bonelessly. When he reappeared, he had gained a wet towel and lost the used condom. He handed the towel to Grantaire.

“Do you want to get those sheets off, or sleep on the bed as is?” Bahorel asked.

Grantaire wiped off his hand and his stomach. Pleasant exhaustion weighed down his eyelids, but he still found the energy to shoot Bahorel a look. “Are you always so chipper after sex?”

“Yep. Better get used to it.” Bahorel made Grantaire stand up and ripped the sheets off the bed. In lieu of looking for new sheets, he laid the comforter down on the bed and gestured for Grantaire to climb on top of it. He got another blanket from Grantaire’s closet and came to bed himself.

They lay in narrow bed, facing each other.

“So, this is crazy,” said Grantaire softly.

Bahorel brought his hand to Grantaire’s face and brushed his fingers over his cheek. “Any regrets?” he asked.

Grantaire smiled. “I think meeting you was one of the best things that ever happened to me. For months now, I’ve been happiest when I’ve been with you.”

“Let’s see how you feel about me in the morning. Night.”

“Goodnight.”

 

* * *

 

They woke up late the next morning, as per usual. It was a gorgeous, sunny Sunday, so they decided to go to the Musain for lunch.

Courfeyrac and Jehan were already there, eating sandwiches and flicking bits of napkin at each other at a table by the front window. Both of them looked up when Grantaire and Bahorel walked in.

“Told you they’d come here,” Jehan said to Courfeyrac. Courfeyrac rolled his eyes and waved Grantaire and Bahorel over to their table.

“You were waiting for us?” asked Grantaire. He sat in the seat next to Jehan while Bahorel took the seat next to Courfeyrac. As soon as they were seated, Bahorel snuck a hand onto Grantaire’s knee beneath the table and squeezed. “Anyone else here we should know about?”

“Yeah,” said a new voice. Grantaire twisted in his chair to see Combeferre coming through the front door. “And I need to talk to you, Grantaire. In private.” Combeferre’s eyes dropped to where Bahorel was holding Grantaire’s leg, then tracked back up. “If you’re not busy, that is,” he finished evenly.

A flutter of nerves started up in Grantaire’s stomach. “Of course.” He stood up, hesitated, and then leaned down to brush his lips across the corner of Bahorel’s mouth.

Bahorel looked at Combeferre and back at Grantaire. “I’ll be right here,” he said firmly. “I’ll order you something too. Artichoke and spinach sound good?”

The whorls of discomfort in Grantaire’s chest quieted a bit. It was nice having someone wholeheartedly in your corner. Grantaire nodded his assent and joined Combeferre at a smaller table on the other side of the room.

Combeferre looked much as he always did: an average man of average height with medium brown hair and dark blue eyes. Any interaction with him quickly revealed, however, that Combeferre is anything but average. His soft-spoken demeanor hid steel and conviction that rivaled Enjolras’, which was saying something. Combeferre was the only one who’d ever gotten Enjolras to change his mind.

He was so steady. So stable. Trustworthy. Grantaire had always admired that about him.

“First and foremost, I want to apologize,” began Combeferre. Grantaire frowned in surprise. “It’s my job to facilitate meetings. That means I’m supposed to create a safe and comfortable space for everyone. I haven’t done that for you. I’m sorry.”

“Apology accepted.” Grantaire folded his hands together and placed them on the table. He’d always wondered why no one really said anything when Enjolras lit into him. He’d never said anything either though, so maybe he should cut everyone some slack. Enjolras could be terrifying. “Can I take this to mean the meetings will be run differently from now on?”

Combeferre nodded. “I talked to Enjolras last night. We agreed on some new guidelines, ones that we’ll all have to follow. We can discuss them as a group at the next meeting.”

Grantaire paused, wondering if he should say what was on his mind. Combeferre was in a sharing mood. “Why did Enjolras treat me like that? Do you know?”

“I’m not sure,” said Combeferre. “He’s always been weird about you. Maybe he felt threatened?” He shrugged, then gestured to Bahorel. “I think he’ll be surprised about this. I know he was taken aback by Bahorel’s…passionate defense of you last night. None of us knew.”

Grantaire snuck a peek at Bahorel, who was laughing uproariously at something Courfeyrac was saying. The sound reverberated throughout the room, lightening the air as it moved.

“Well, it’s a new thing,” said Grantaire.

“Still surprising though,” answered Combeferre. He bit his lip. “I thought…all of us thought, really…that you had a…thing…for Enjolras.”

“If by ‘thing’ you mean ‘weird obsession,’ then yes, I did,” said Grantaire. “But pining after him, or whatever crazy image of him I had in my mind, was making me miserable. Bahorel makes me the opposite of miserable.”

Combeferre gave him a genuine smile. “You do seem happy.”

“I never thought it could happen to someone like me,” said Grantaire, offering his own smile in return. “A relationship built on common interest, mutual attraction, and genuine good feeling? It’s beyond imagining.”

That must have signaled on end to the conversation, because Combeferre stood up. Grantaire got up after him and they both went back to their friends. Bahorel reached up his hand without looking and Grantaire took it, tangling their fingers together.


End file.
